Once but a Teardrop

Of joy,

of achievement,

of rest,

of dreams to come.

Now but another reflection so small,

so tender in its plea,

resting on so many cheeks,

as invisible forces go unchecked.

This…

Our universal mirror refracting the jettisoned smiles,

the joy of a child's first touch of a mother's cheek,

a grandmother's tenacity to survive,

any creature's helpless struggle amidst the bombs

behind the eyes of hate,

the bullets beneath the cursed lips of terror-speak,

the smoke of mindless angst.

One could ask and contemplate many answers.

Perhaps we need not search any further,

this malady of man,

this apathy yearning for consciousness.

Perhaps we need only to focus

and listen to our breath,

as it slowly echoes the buried cries,

the resonance of birth,

the gift of life,

all while the tear that once was but a teardrop,

slowly forms yet another glistening ever so small

as a beacon in the dark.